


Guarding Ain't What It Used To Be

by Porphyrios



Series: Kinktober 2019 [6]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Humor, Kinktober 2019, M/M, Masturbation, Sex Work, Uniform Kink, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2020-12-31 03:01:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21058436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Porphyrios/pseuds/Porphyrios
Summary: Kinktober 2019 (Uniforms): Hingist is down on his luck, despite being an up and coming young thief.  He goes for what he thinks is one sort of meeting, only to find out it's something else entirely.Note: I'm really sorry to have done this to y'all.  I have been laughing at this ever since I had the idea, and it just had to be written, dammit.  Don't hold it against me.





	Guarding Ain't What It Used To Be

Hingist eyed Ysolda from his place in the shadows under the eaves of the nearest house. She stood at her stall in the market, currently being held captive by some farmwife who was babbling on thirteen to the dozen about something. The merchant had sent him on a mission to get a mammoth tusk, promising him a good reward if he found one. She apparently wanted it as a gift for some Khajiit merchant... like _that_ wasn't shifty. Still, none of his business. Tusks were large, bulky, and rare. For Skyrim's up and coming young thief, however, they were the easiest thing in the world; rewards were even better, for Skyrim's up and coming young broke thief. Money went through his hands like salt through water. Still... he had always had a sense that there was a seamier side to the merchant than anyone usually saw. Oh yes, she was always so polite at the market, but she was so curious, and she asked the same sorts of questions as Brynjolf. He had thought several times of breaking into her home, and just taking a look around; no harm in looking, right? Well, as long as the bloody guards didn't catch you. He hated the guards in Whiterun. For one thing, there were too damned many of them. While politics weren't his concern, he heard a rumor that Ulfric Stormcloak thought the Jarl was using his local police force to build a private army, and Hingist could see why. Bloody yellowbacks were everywhere, you could barely stop to take a piss without one turning up and watching you shake your cock, then mumbling some inane drivel. And why did the idiots all repeat the same things, over and over again? This city was a disgrace, he told himself for the hundredth time. Time to move somewhere decent. Ah, there she went. Finally. He wandered over.

"Ysolda, well met!" He smiled winningly at her. He knew his face was no prize, but she was a good looking woman and, well, it had been a while.

"Hingist! Well met indeed! Is that bundle you're carrying for me?" Her usually calculating eyes seemed hopeful. Hingist looked around her stall by habit, but of course there weren't any shadowsigns around. Why did she seem so shifty? His curiosity was jiggling now.

"Aye, that it is. Check out this beauty." With a flourish, he whipped the cloth off a lovely tusk that he had, what would be a good term, 'liberated' from a nearby bandit camp. Her jaw dropped.

"By the Nine, it's magnificent! Hingist, I... well, you've outdone yourself." Ysolda put her hands to her chest, and Hingist thought he saw her looking him up and down. He quickly puffed out his chest (hopefully unobtrusively) and stood a little straighter. She reached out a hand and slid it down the tusk in what Hingist could have sworn was a seductive manner, had they not been in the middle of the marketplace. "Honestly, I'm quite impressed. Would you like payment for this in coin or... something else?" He could hardly believe his ears; this was a bit more forward than he was used to in the middle of a public market, even as a Nord.

"Well, uh... something else might do, what did you have in mind?" he stammered. She smiled demurely.

"Come by my house at full dark tonight. We can discuss payment and... well, there's something else I think you might be able to help me with." She looked him up and down a little more obviously. "Yes, I think you would suit the role perfectly. Oh, speaking of roles," she said, looking at him with something much closer to her usual sharp expression, "do you have any experience acting? Learning and repeating lines, changing your walk and speech, that sort of thing?"

"I, uh," by the Nine, what was this woman into? "... I have some experience in disguise. I mean, yes, of course, I could do that." Flushing, he cursed himself under his breath. Disguise? Moron. That didn't sound shifty at all, no sir. She seemed not to have noticed, praise Nocturnal. Smiling sweetly, she tucked away the tusk under the stall.

"See you tonight," she said sweetly, then turned to the old woman waiting impatiently to speak to her. Hingist wandered off in a daze. That she was interested in him seemed clear, but... what in Oblivion had he gotten himself into?

=

By the time evening faded into darkness and stars, Hingist had worked himself into a state. An entire afternoon of wrestling with what sort of sexual encounter involved acting and learning lines had his head swimming. He was also so sexually frustrated that he was tempted to take care of himself an hour before just so he wouldn't spill like a teenager as soon as Ysolda's clothes came off. He could barely contain his impatience as he rounded the corner to her house and knocked on the door. Almost immediately, the door was yanked open. She looked him up and down with a critical look, then nodded once and pulled him inside. Before he could say anything, she spoke.

"I appreciate your coming like this. I know this seems a bit peculiar," she began, but she held up her hand as he started to protest. "I will pay good coin for the tusk if you wish. I have another problem, though, and I think you are well-suited to help me. I have a very well-off... friend... and he has... how to put this? Special requirements." Hingist was choked with disappointment that his tryst seemed to be not happening, but he was even more disturbed by the direction that the conversation was going.

"Look, I..." he started, only to have her hold up her hand again.

"You won't have to touch him." _Touch_ him? What the... "If you can just wear the clothes and, uh, put on a show, he'll be thrilled. And when he's thrilled, money falls out of him, if you get my meaning." Suddenly, the nature of all this became clear. Obviously Ysolda's stock in trade wasn't just items. "I'm assuming that men don't interest you sexually." At Hingist's spluttering denial, she nodded. "I thought as much. Just asking, no concerns either way. Like I said, you won't have to do anything but wear an outfit and maybe put on a little bit of a show. How are you at dancing?" His head was reeling. He had come here thinking this was a sexual assignation and instead, he was being pushed into... what, exactly?

"Just hold on a moment." He'd finally reached his limit. She made a face and motioned for him to keep his voice down. "So you're telling me that you want me to dress up in some sort of outfit and put on a show? What sort of show? And how much money are we talking about here? Because I'm not going to humiliate myself for anything cheap." Hingist cursed his constant lack of coin that made him add that last bit.

Ysolda hadn't missed it, and relief filled her face for a second before she was in full haggling mode. "500 gold in septims for one night's work. You need to wear an outfit, talk appropriately for the role, maybe dance a little bit or show some of your body. Your face will be covered at all times, so unless you have a really distinctive tattoo or something, the client will never know it was you. And remember," she said, eyebrows waggling, "you _will_ know who it was, and I think you're the type that finds knowing things useful, are you not?" Hingist almost looked down to make sure he hadn't forgotten and worn his Guild armor; how the hell did she know that? Still, time to bargain.

"500, eh? 750," he retorted. She laughed in his face.

"500 is already too much considering the level of effort. 550."

He sighed. "I would have loved to help you out, but you're just too cheap. 700."

She snorted. "We're both headed for 625, so let's jump ahead. That's the limit, though, and you don't damage the outfit." He nodded and they shook. A wave of disgust filled him; this is what he had come to? Not quite whoring, but not quite not either. He had to get a grip on his habits. The sting to his ego wasn't weak either, thinking a woman was interested in him only to find out she was only interested in him as some sort of fancy-boy to be pimped to others. She beckoned him into the room behind her. "Here's the outfit," she said, motioning to a bed where the outfit of... you must be kidding, he thought sourly. The uniform of a Whiterun guard lay on the bed. At his incredulous look, she shook her head. "He has a fetish. I don't judge. He just wants to watch a guard do... guard things... I suppose. He will give you directions, but just remember to say some of the idiotic things the guards say all day and he should be happy. And if he's happy, I'm happy, you're happy, everyone is happy. Understood?"

Hingist nodded, not without some resistance. He stripped off his shirt and put on the guard mail and painted surcoat over it, feeling dirty already. She turned away and he took off his trousers, afterwards slipping on the guard breeks and binding on the boots, cursing the stiff lacings. As he picked up the shield, she cast a critical eye over him. "You look good. Not quite stupid enough, but work on that." She gave him a quick, knifelike smile, then said "Let's hear something a guard would say."

Sighing, Hingist recited "Gotta keep my eyes open. Damn dragons could swoop down any time." She laughed delightedly.

"Gods, yes, that's perfect. He'll love you. Come on. And remember... don't take off your helm if you don't want to be known." Hingist thought he would have no trouble remembering that. The last thing he wanted was anyone knowing how low he would sink for money. They passed through a door, then into a substantially better decorated area. As they climbed a set of stairs, velvet draped the walls and a sweet incense was burning that left the air perfumed but made his head swim. Seated on a chair in the corner of the room, carefully arranged to have the best view of everything was Nazeem, the owner of Chillwind Farm. Hingist could have fallen over in shock. The pretentious twit that wandered around insulting everyone had a guard fetish?

"My friend," Ysolda's voice hardly seemed to seemed to come from the same woman, it was suddenly so syrupy, "I happened to find a guard who was interested in helping you out with your... project." She smiled demurely. Nazeem's eyes were the size of oranges. "I'll leave you two to get acquainted. Just ring the bell if you need... anything at all." The Redguard nodded brusquely, all but shooing the woman out of her own room. She seemed used to it, withdrawing with a smile and a bowed head, closing the door behind her as she went. In the sudden silence, Nazeem's heavy breathing became audible. He seemed to be waiting for something, so Hingist figured he might as well earn his money.

"Let me guess, someone stole your sweetroll." Nazeem swallowed suddenly, eyes shining as he stared. He reached into his robes and began rubbing himself as Hingist tried to stifle his groan. This was not at all something he needed to see. He strode up and down, trying to mimic the aimless saunter of the guards, swinging his shield and craning his neck like the morons he spent all day avoiding. Glancing over at Nazeem, he pointed at the Redguard and said sternly "No lollygaggin'!" Nazeem's gasp was clearly audible, and with a tug he pulled his cock out of his pants. Hingist looked in spite of himself. He was used to his own, of course, and there had been one time as teenagers that he had shared a furtive wank with a neighbor boy, but this was the first other adult cock he had ever seen. More shocking to think about than to do, however; Nazeem's cock seemed about the same as his own, just much darker than any Nord. Nazeem's hand moved on it slowly, establishing the rhythm any man knows by heart. Shaking himself, Hingist remembered what he was supposed to be doing here. "Brigands I can handle, but this talk of dragons? World's gone mad, I say." Shortly afterwards, he muttered "Everything's in order" to a grunt of pleasure. He was beginning to feel a bit panicky, because was this it? Just walk up and down reciting nonsense until Nazeem gets off? What else did Ysolda mention? Oh right... dancing. With a sinking sensation, Hingist realized he had never mentioned that he didn't know anything about dancing. Recognizing that Nazeem's hand seemed to be slowing, Hingist walked over almost to the man, looked down at his cock with the same vacant nonchalance the guards used towards everything, muttering "I mostly deal with petty thievery and drunken brawls." Nazeem gasped and Hingist was close enough to actually see the man's cock twitch, spilling out a glistening trail of precome. He quickly completed the line with "Been too long since we've had a good bandit raid." and backed off. That was a little much for him, he thought. Too close.

Nazeem was breathing like a bellows now. He looked like he was about to get off, and Hingist couldn't wait to be done with this. Suddenly, the Redguard spoke. Unlike his usual snotty tones, this sounded needy, almost pained. "Say it," he whispered loudly. "Say it." Hingist's mind whirled. Fuck! Ysolda should have told him if there was some sort of special phrase. He racked his brain, thinking quickly as Nazeem became impatient. Finally at the next "Say it!" he decided to take a risk. He would use the guards' dumbest line of all time, and maybe that was the basis for Nazeem's little kink.

"I used to be an adventurer like you," he started, and Nazeem cried out and convulsed, semen spitting out of his cock in stripes all over his expensive garments. "Then I took an arrow in the knee." Nazeem's gasps went on for a bit, then he cleaned himself up with a previously unseen dark rag nearby. Mission accomplished, Hingist looked around wondering if Ysolda was going to come back. Nazeem finally finished putting himself back together, and beckoned him over. Warily, he approached the other man, only to be greeted with a heavy pouch of coins.

"You were magnificent, a little token of my appreciation. Ysolda will show you out." With that, he picked up the small bell off the table and rang it peremptorily. Ysolda soon opened the door and motioned for Hingist to come out. He nodded his head at Nazeem, who ignored him, and left the room. This had been one of the strangest evenings of his life. Ysolda eyed the pouch and smiled. 

"Tipped you, did he? Must have done a good job. Thank you." She waved at the bed. "Leave the outfit there when you leave. Your pay is in the bag there," as she motioned to a large satchel, "and nothing else better be missing from this room or it's your ass." Before he could protest, she smiled, this time with all the sweetness of a sabrecat. "And give Brynjolf my regards. Good night." On that note, she left him gaping and headed back upstairs to tend to her client. Shaking his head at how thoroughly he'd been played, Hingist put his clothes on and comforted himself with the gold he was carrying.


End file.
